


Jaskier and the Cockatrice

by WishMage



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Loss, Canon-Typical Violence, Do not post to other sites, Do not repost, Drunk Jaskier | Dandelion, F/M, First Kiss, Geralt figures out what pleases him, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier makes a bad decision drunk, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Near Fatal Injury, Open Relationships, POV switch, Prompt Fic, Rating May Change, Serious Injuries, This is a Garaskier fic, Will add tags as I go, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It, being hunted as prey, unspoken adoration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishMage/pseuds/WishMage
Summary: Jaskier, feeling the need to prove himself and reckless from imbibing too much ale, is convinced (with support from his fellow late-night drinkers) that he can tackle Geralt's contract himself.He quickly finds out how wrong he was.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Jaskier and the Cockatrice

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: https://geraskierficprompts.tumblr.com/post/612166939005026304  
>  _Geralt has gone to bed with Yennefer, and Jaskier is feeling like a third wheel. Jaskier is outrageously drunk and decides (goaded on by the inn mob) he can march into the woods and take on the monster contract by himself._
> 
> Betad by @Johniarty and @avilion - all mistakes are my own.   
> (Esp as I blatantly ignored a few suggestions to fix things in a few places, for the mood of the piece. ^^;;)

Jaskier scrambled to a stop, feet sliding slightly on the leaves as he pressed his back into a thick oak. He gasped in a breath and held it with both hands slapped across his mouth and nose to keep himself from panting as he listened, wide-eyed and terrified. Tears fell unbidden from his eyes, and his chest clenched repeatedly as it tried to draw air that wasn’t coming through his shaking hands. He could feel blood running down the side of his arm and the back of one leg from where the creature’s claws had torn through silk, linen, and skin. His back burned like fire as he pressed against the tree. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed a sob of pure terror when he heard something moving much too close, curling in on himself as much as he dared move. He didn’t dare try and pull in a breath despite his burning lungs.  
  
A shriek, loud as thunder, had him curling into a crouch involuntarily with a cry as he covered his ears. Only the fact that he scrambled up and away as he cried out kept him from getting killed as the creature rounded the tree. The Cockatrice’s talon struck it so viciously, it splintered where Jaskier had been pressed against it. Unable to see much of anything, even with the moon nearly full, he ran blindly away from the creature pursuing him. He only got a few strides before it was on him, and then he was in agony. Its massive talons pierced into his side, his leg, abdomen, and the top of his chest, the breath knocked from him with the force of the blow. Through the haze of blinding pain, he was aware he was being lifted from the forest floor, upward.  
  
This was it, he realized as he struggled not to pass out. He was done. His foolish need to prove himself capable had been his end. Branches whipped his face and arms and then he was slammed into something so hard the creature’s claws tore away from his flesh. Then he was falling, free of the massive talon.  
  
He crashed down through branches and came to a painful stop when one was too massive to fall through or break. A nearly silent sob escaped him as pain washed over him. He could hear the creature still struggling through the trees but it sounded far away now. Tears flowed down his cheeks freely and he caught his breath slowly, terrified to move with no idea how far he’d have to fall. He could feel blood dripping from his fingertips and off his neck, the warm wetness soaking through his clothing and running down to vanish into the darkness below.  
  
Jaskier closed his eyes and prayed to the gods and the goddesses alike, but the most fervent prayer, his last hope, slipped from his lips. “Geralt... please.”  
  
-+-  
  
Geralt’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking around the room. Something had woken him, but he wasn’t sure what. The sense of urgency he felt had him up out of the bed before he was fully conscious of moving. He glanced back toward Yennefer as she rolled over, and then around the room, eyes lingering on the shadowed areas. It was as safe as the sorceress’s rooms always were, but Geralt didn’t feel the tension ease at all. Something was terribly wrong, just not in this room.   
  
Geralt dressed quickly, pulling on his armor and strapping on his swords with haste, and left the room. Listening intently, he moved across the inn’s’ hall and to Jaskier’s room. He pushed the door open, scowled that the bard had left it unlocked, then stopped when he entered and didn’t see the bard in either bed. Somehow, he just knew that sick feeling in his stomach had something to do with him. Seeing the lute in its case on Jaskier’s bed made his expression darken further.   
  
“ _Fuck_.” Geralt pulled the door shut behind him a bit too hard, and stalked toward the steps and down into the inn’s main hall. He hoped to see Jaskier passed out on one of the long benches over a mug of ale, but his eyes swept over a nearly empty room, and a deep inhale revealed none of the bard’s scent. He blew the breath out to channel his anger and the clenching sensation in his gut as he scanned the room again, this time for someone sober enough to answer him.  
  
The scent of fear hit him hard and his eyes snapped to the barmaid who’d just turned from a table she’d been clearing. He stalked toward her and ignored the bowls that clattered from her shaking hands.   
  
“Where’s the bard?” He asked, and she gasped and looked toward the inn doors, then back at him.   
  
“He went after the cockatrice, White Wolf. The... the men convinced him he was... man enough. He wouldn’t _listen_ past that.” He growled in anger at the situation and ignored her shriek as he stalked toward the doors. He slammed the door open and didn’t bother to close it as he inhaled deeply, There was no need for a cat potion as the moon was bright, and Geralt could feel by the crisp in the air that dawn wasn’t far. He thanked anyone listening that it hadn’t been a windy night as he caught the bard’s faint scent, reeking of ale.   
  
He ran for the sheltered hitching rail and untied Roach, not waiting to saddle her before he mounted and sent her off at a run as he trailed after Jaskier’s scent. He hoped with everything in him at that moment that he’d find the bard ale-wasted and asleep before he reached the forest, but of course, he had no such luck.  
  
The sky had begun to lighten slightly as Geralt and Roach plunged into the forest on the trail of Jaskier’s scent. The smell of his blood hit Geralt like a blade through the gut and he grunted, pained. Jaskier hadn’t gotten far into the woods in the dark. Preparing himself for the worst, Geralt pushed Roach a little harder. The scent of blood was so strong, Geralt felt as though he’d been swimming in since entering the forest. The alarmed noise that escaped Roach when she finally noticed the smell had him closing his eyes for a moment in sympathy.  
  
He stopped where the wrong smell of Jaskier’s blood was most concentrated and looked around. There was a tree about fifteen feet away that had been violently struck, and Roach was dancing nervously around a pool of blood. He could smell Jaskier like he was on top of him, but he didn’t see him. He looked up and felt his heart seize in his chest.  
  
Jaskier was caught in the branches about thirty feet up, pale, not moving. His formerly mint green outfit looked black with blood. Geralt swallowed around his heart, focused intently on the bard’s still form, breathed when he could hear a heartbeat. He cursed himself for not taking a moment to saddle Roach, as the potions Jaskier needed now were in her saddlebags. He steered Roach over to the tree, lifted himself to stand on her saddle then buried his dagger to the hilt in the tree. He used it to pull himself up and used the momentum to plant his foot on the hilt and kick off to grab the first branch, a little over twenty feet up.  
  
A moment later he was at the base of the branch Jaskier was caught on. Not trusting it with both their weights, he grimaced as he gripped Jaskier by the legs to pull toward him. The bard groaned in pain and, surprising Geralt, regained consciousness as he gathered him against him.  
  
“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped, a strange sort of relieved joy taking his expression. “Oh, thank Melitele. It was _not_ a big chicken,” he complained, referencing Geralt’s earlier description of the beast. Geralt found himself cursing his own easy dismissal of the danger the cockatrice would pose him, that it had encouraged Jaskier.  
  
“I have to get you down.” Geralt replied, and Jaskier nodded, the faith in his expression making Geralt’s gut twist again. He turned his attention to the path downward and shifted Jaskier to his shoulder. The bard went limp again and only his ability to hear the bard’s heartbeat let Geralt know he hadn’t expired in that moment. All he could smell was _blood_. He moved quickly as he climbed down, and set Jaskier down gently on the forest floor. He stripped out of his armor and pulled off his own shirt. He yanked his dagger from the tree and used it to cut through Jaskier’s doublet and shirt so he could see the wounds.   
  
“ _Fuck_.” It was amazing his bard was still alive. He tore his shirt and began stuffing bits of it into the open wounds to staunch the blood, then rolled Jaskier over and peeled the doublet away from his ruined back. Jaskier woke again with a cry as he did, and immediately began to sob, helpless against the pain. Geralt’s mouth twisted along with his gut when Jaskier struggled to get away as he pressed what was left of his shirt into the bleeding wound. The bard was so weak his struggles wouldn’t have dislodged a child. Everything he knew about humans said Jaskier wouldn’t survive this, would be gone before the sunset that day, but he refused to let that happen.   
  
“Geralt!” Jaskier called weakly, smelling afraid, and for a moment Geralt thought it was _him_ Jaskier feared before he realized Jaskier had been _calling_ for him. The bard was delirious with pain.  
  
“I’m here, Jaskier. Have to stop the bleeding. It’s going to hurt.” How fast the fear dissipated, and Jaskier relaxed under him, surprised Geralt and he laid a gentle hand on the back of the bard’s head for a moment to try and soothe him. He reached for his amulet then and activated the spell Yennefer cast. “Yenn, I need you.”  
  
“Of fucking course.” Jaskier gasped out, and seemed not to notice as a portal opened a few feet away, then laughed wetly. Geralt frowned down at him in concern.  
  
“I’m dying on the forest floor and _she’s_ on your mind,” Jaskier exclaimed, eyes bright like fever. Geralt’s frown deepened as Yennefer stepped up beside them, she looked pale with worry as she stood looked the two of them over, glancing at the pool of blood a few feet away from where Geralt sat cradling Jaskier.  
  
“You can be dramatic later, bard.” She said, her voice almost hushed as she met Geralt’s eyes with a look of uncertainty that chilled him to his core. “I need to go get someone else for this.” She whispered as she waved her hand over Jaskier’s back. The bard stopped shaking and relaxed. The blood flow ceased but the wounds didn’t close.   
  
“Go then.” Geralt barked, without having meant to. He didn’t look up at the stench of the portal as she did, attention fully on Jaskier. He sat back in the leaves beside Jaskier and took a breath to steel himself for the pain he was about to cause his bard. Gently, he slipped his hands under Jaskier and rolled him into his arms, careful to avoid holding carefully avoiding the still open wounds.  
  
Whatever Yennefer had done had obviously rid the bard of pain, Geralt noted with no small amount of relief. Jaskier looked more alert and the tears had stopped falling, but he was still deathly pale. He still looked like he might expire with his next breath.  
  
“What were you _thinking_?” Geralt snapped, despite having meant to say something encouraging.  
  
“I was thinking I could handle a big _chicken_ , of all things,” Jaskier replied with every bit of his normal sass, eyes heavy on Geralt. Geralt just met them evenly for a long moment then pulled Jaskier a little closer and touched his forehead to the bard’s.  
  
“Don't _do_ that again.” He growled softly, his heart still clenching painfully in his chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”  
  
Jaskier gasped softly, as though pained, and Geralt leaned back to look him over. Jaskier laughed softly and Geralt met his eyes, just as the sun finally climbed high enough to really filter into the forest.  
  
“You’ve always tried to get rid of me.” The bard accused, bemused, and Geralt frowned.   
  
“Only because I know you aren’t going anywhere.” Geralt returned, his gaze intent on Jaskier’s.  
  
Jaskier closed his eyes with a somewhat sad smile, and tears fell again. Geralt watched him for a moment, sighed, and then dropped his forehead back down to press against his beloved bard’s in silence. Geralt’s eyes fall shut as he focused on his bard’s heartbeat.   
  
Jaskier’s bloodied hand reached up and pressed to his cheek, and he opened his eyes to meet his always startlingly blue eye. After searching them and finding what he was looking for, Geralt tilted his head to kiss him, just as a portal opened again.  
  
Geralt lifted his head as two sets of footfalls hurried toward them, and found himself relieved when he saw who Yenn brought with her.   
  
“Triss,” he greeted gruffly, and shifted so he wasn’t curled over Jaskier and she could actually get to him, without actually putting the bard down. He didn’t know how he was going to manage that feat when Jaskier was practically at death’s door.  
  
Triss fell quickly to her knees beside them, only offering a worried glance in greeting herself before beginning to ask Jaskier questions about how he was feeling and a series of inane questions about his name and the year and other simple things that Jaskier, worryingly, seemed increasingly confused by as the questions went on.  
  
She produced potions from her bag, making Jaskier drink, and pouring a combination of them over his wounds. Geralt held him the entire time, only casting his eyes up at Yennefer once. Her attention was on Jaskier, worry open on her face. Her expression settled something in Geralt’s gut. He knew Yennefer was fond of Jaskier, despite her teasing, but how he _felt_ about the bard wasn’t something they’d talked about since the first time she’d brought it up to him, only to receive silence in return.  
  
When Jaskier sagged in his arms again, Geralt looked up at Triss in alarm, but she looked relieved. With relief loosening the tightness in his chest, Geralt noted Jaskier looked better already, more alive. Color had returned to his skin. His face looked unpained as he rested this time, and the wounds he’d suffered were covered with a strange almost sap-looking substance that had thickened from a liquid potion she’d poured over them.  
  
“He’ll live _if_ he gets plenty of rest. Somewhere safe. He’ll be welcome in Temeria. King Foltest is fond of him.” Geralt frowned. Of course, Jaskier was known... he just wasn’t comfortable staying in a castle. But Jaskier would be. It would provide him more comfort and safety than the backwater inn they’d stopped at.  
  
“Alright.” Geralt agreed, carefully supporting Jaskier as he stood without taking his eyes off him.  
  
“I’ll bring your things.” Yennefer said as she waved her hand and opened another portal, through which Geralt could see a courtyard and stables. He shot Yennefer a grateful look and followed Triss, who’d taken Roach’s noseband reins to lead her through first. When he’d stepped through with Jaskier, he turned again to look at Yennefer.   
  
“Yenn?” She raised her eyebrows in reply, and all he could bring himself to say in that moment was “don’t forget his lute.”   
  
Rolling her eyes at him, and recognizing the silent thanks he was unable to say, Yennefer closed the portal. His lip ticked upward, knowing she’d forgiven him already. He looked back down at the precious life in his arms, taking in his better color in the brighter light of Temeria’s courtyard. He raised his head again in time to watch Triss hand Roach’s reins to a capable-looking stablehand before she turned to wave Geralt to follow her. He found himself able to draw his first calm breath since he’d woken, _knowing_ in his center that something was terribly wrong. Geralt clutched his bard close and followed her into the castle to get Jaskier settled.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post this as a one-shot but one of my beta's convinced me to do more.
> 
> Will probably have Yennefer and Geralt have a chat next chapter.


End file.
